


As You Wish

by RileyC



Category: Batman: The Animated Series, World's Finest - Fandom
Genre: Alien Ceremony, Alternate Universe, Krypton, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:45:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krypton wasn't destroyed. Kal-El never came to Earth to become Clark Kent/Superman, and it's time for him to let the Crown of Yuda find his mate. He was instructed to keep his thoughts clear but finds them drifting to a romantic legendary hero he has always admired.</p><p>Meanwhile on Earth, Bruce is faced with another New Year's Eve alone, and doesn't see that changing anytime soon. </p><p>Fate, by way of Kryptonian technology, is about to intervene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for last year's [WFGE](http://worlds-finest.livejournal.com/1125917.html), in response to this prompt: _F34 ka-el/bruce paring with the following setup: kripton still exist and ka-el is being thrown a life partner party, in it there is a device that searches and teleport the other person partner in life. Bruce is already batman._ Sorry it's late!
> 
> And a thank you, actually, to giving this a look. Since her many and wonderful Krypton fics were part of the inspiration, that meant a _lot_. She also found this page, [everything you wanted to know about Krypton but didn't know who to ask](http://superman.nu/theages/Encyclopaedia/krypton.php) (or just about anyway), that helped tremendously.

-1-

Kal-El of Krypton stood before a mirror, fussing with the curl that always insisted on tumbling over his forehead. No matter how many times he pushed it out of the way, it fell right back in place. Short of gluing it down or cutting it off, there wasn’t much he could do about it. He gave up on the curl and stood back to at least make sure everything else was in place. Regardless of how he felt about the evening ahead, it was of the utmost importance he appear presentable.

This evening… Kal sighed and tugged at the high, stiff collar of his coat, the rich scarlet cloth embroidered with gold thread that marked out his house symbol. Worn over a blue shirt and trousers, with high red boots, it had been determined these colors would make him appear especially striking. There was certainly very little chance of anyone missing him, Kal reflected, as he looked only slightly less ostentatious than a flamebird at the height of its mating cycle.

He sighed and let his shoulders slump as he walked out onto the balcony. He leaned against the railing and enjoyed the warmth of the day that lingered as the sun set. As he watched, lights began to come on all over Kryptonopolis and soon the city was laid out before him, glittering like the most beautiful jewel in the night. It was so beautiful, more precious to him than any jewel could be. When he thought about how much he loved it, the prospect of doing his duty tonight didn’t seem quite so dismal.

Where, in all of that beauty, was the one person meant for him? Who were they, what would they be like? Had he met him already, passed him on some street and never known? It was like that in a lot of the old storybooks, the predestined lovers almost meeting before events swept them up that eventually brought them around to each once more and they finally knew they were meant to be. Kal knew that wasn’t realistic, that it was foolish even to long for something like that. Sometimes he allowed himself to hope, however, that whoever the Crown of Yuda searched out tonight, the one person who would be his perfect mate, that they would share his wishes and hopes for something like those storybook romances.

He let out a pensive sigh and suspected he was in for a rude awakening. This was why he had hoped to postpone this night indefinitely.

Indefinitely hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.

A soft knock sounded on his door and Kal looked around as his mother came in and joined him on the balcony. Her arm linked through his, Lara said, “Your father is growing impatient.”

Kal nodded solemnly. “And things fall down when you drop them.”

Lara stifled something suspiciously like a laugh. She sighed then and squeezed his hand. “He does actually have your best interests at heart, Kal. It’s not such a terrible prospect, is it?” She turned to face him, searching his eyes. “To have someone to share your life?”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. “No, not terrible, Mother. Why can’t I make my own choice, though?”

“Is there someone you would choose, if you could?”

“No, but there could be. Someone I just haven’t met yet.”

Lara reached over to brush his curl out of the way, smiling when it fell right back into place. “How would you meet this man?”

Kal shrugged again; he’d never really worked out that part. “I don’t know. In the old stories it just sort of…happens.”

“That doesn’t sound very efficient,” Lara said, her voice and expression gentle. “The people in those stories spend a lot of time being lonesome and unhappy, as I recall.”

Kal couldn’t argue with that. Those storybook lovers had to overcome so many obstacles just to steal a kiss, never mind living happily ever after. How could he explain that it was those very struggles that made everything so satisfying when the lovers finally found each other? That the almost unbearable suspense and longing was part of what made it so exciting? It wasn’t logical or sensible but that didn’t seem to stop him from wanting it.

“Do you suppose Father would consider building a time machine to send me back to the olden days?” he asked, only half-joking.

Lara patted his arm and smiled. “Now you’re just being silly.” Her voice caught for a moment, and there was a wistful light in her eyes as she stood back to look at him. “My little Kal…” She swiped a tear from her cheek and shook her head. “If I could, I would keep you my little Kal always. If I could hold your hand one more time as you make your way along this new path, I would.”

Kal nodded. “I know, Mother. I can do it,” he said, and smiled to show her that he really could, just as when he first learned to ride a hovercycle.

“Of course you can,” Lara said and patted his cheek. “But try not to look as though you’re going to your execution,” she added, a hint of mischief in her eyes, so like his.

He blushed and bowed his head. “I’ll try,” he promised and meant it. After all, this was how his parents had met. Their life together might not be filled with the romantic adventure and thrilling passion of the storybooks but they were comfortable with each other, they suited each other. To be at ease with someone, to…fit with them, that couldn’t be a bad thing.

Once upon a times, he knew, were just for make believe.

~*~

_“Once upon a time  
A boy with moonlight in his eyes  
Put his hand in mine  
And said he loved me so  
But that was once upon a time  
Very long ago…”_

Bruce Wayne of Gotham lounged carelessly against a marble column in the hotel ballroom and listened to the girl singer on stage. She didn’t look old enough to have experienced enough of life to even understand the song, yet he couldn’t deny she invested the lyrics with a poignant intimacy that even got past his shields. 

Or maybe it was the time of year, the holidays winding down and everyone poised on the cusp of a new year. Even if New Year’s Eve was one of the more pointless holidays anyone ever thought up, it was still difficult to resist the impulse to reflect upon the year just past—to wonder what that new year might hold in store. 

Bruce scanned the room, looking for any sign of trouble among the overindulgence and forced gaiety. He couldn’t explain the faint sense of envy he felt. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be a part of this. It wasn’t as if he wanted to turn to some random stranger as the clock struck midnight and welcome in the new year with a kiss. 

If it wasn’t a random stranger, though… He grumbled low in his throat, annoyed at himself for indulging in sentimental nonsense. The Mission was everything. He didn’t have the time or energy to spend on anything else. Even if he did, how could he ever ask anyone to join their life to his? What did he have to offer beyond a life in peril and the constant uncertainty that he would make it back alive? It was bad enough he drove Alfred to distraction. 

He drifted toward a window to look outside, hoping to spot the Bat signal in the sky. It didn’t look like Penguin and his gang would hit this particular New Year’s Eve celebration but there were several other parties in town, the guest lists just as glittering. 

All he saw was a star-speckled winter sky, clouds ghosting across the moon. 

He sighed and turned back to face the room, just in time to spot Jillian Chandler headed his way, a predatory gleam in her eyes. Impossible to make a smooth getaway, so he settled for a classic Brucie move. Just as Jillian reached him, her loins girded for battle in Versace, he tripped and stumbled and spilled the champagne he hadn’t been drinking right down her cleavage. Jillian shrieked, smacked him with her clutch as everyone turned to look at them, spit fire at him with her eyes— _Was spit fire from her eyes the right expression? he wondered_ —and turned to stomp off to the ladies lounge. 

All in all, one of his closer escapes. 

Jillian wasn’t a random stranger, but he didn’t want to kiss in the new year with her, either. He wanted… He wanted a legendary romance, the kind that didn’t really happen anyway. He wanted things that couldn’t be, things that never were. But he had stopped believing in happily ever after a very long time ago and didn’t see that changing anytime soon. 

_“Once upon a time  
The world was sweeter than we knew  
Everything was ours  
How happy we were then  
But somehow once upon a time  
Never comes again…”_

~*~

“By the Mistress of the Moons, Yuda, we gather here to witness our son, Kal-El’s, declaration ceremony.” Jor-El gestured for Kal to step forward and take his place on the Throne of Harmony and Divergence.

Up to this moment, Kal had hoped that a secret trapdoor might suddenly open up in the floor and allow him to escape. As it appeared that would not happen, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and crossed the short distance where he was to meet his fate. 

The ceremonial chamber was brightly lit; the walls and floor had been polished so they gleamed like glass and reflected the glittering light. A soft rustle of formal robes, donned for the occasion, whispered in the background. Krypton’s most distinguished citizens had been assembled to witness the ceremony—and secretly root for their House to be chosen as the one destined to join with the House of El. At least that was what his cousin, Kara, had whispered to him earlier. He caught sight of her friendly face in the crowd and drew some comfort from her look of encouragement as he took his seat. 

Jor-El was still addressing the assembly. “Through trial and wisdom, we have learned to trust in the Crown of Yuda to seek out for us our best match, our truest companion with whom to share our life’s journey. My son,” he looked at Kal now, “do you come here freely?” 

“I do, Father.” 

“Do you give yourself over to the Crown of Yuda, trusting in its wisdom to find your Chosen?” 

He worried his lip for a moment as he looked at the crown. It rested on a black velvet cushion held by an attendant; a circlet of gold festooned with shimmering crystals that looked far too delicate for its momentous task. Kal met his father’s eyes and felt stunned for an instant at what he discovered there. Not impatience, nothing imperious or demanding at all, in fact. He saw sympathy and understanding, and—perhaps—even a hint of wry amusement. It was almost as if Jor-El understood everything he was experiencing because Jor-El had felt it, too. That knowledge unexpectedly made all of this much easier to deal with. 

“Kal-El?” 

“Yes, Father,” he said, and nodded, “I give myself over to the Crown of Yuda and trust in its wisdom.” 

It could never be said that Jor-El went about beaming, but for a moment as he looked at Kal and nodded back to him, something suspiciously _like_ a proud smile graced his stern features. “Very well,” he said, and gestured to the attendant to bring the crown to them. “I give my son, Kal-El, to the Crown of Yuda. Who will join me?” he said, and looked at Lara as she stepped forward. 

“I will,” she said, solemn and wistful, but glowing with pride and excitement. 

They each lifted the crystal crown from its cushion and settled it onto Kal’s head, speaking the last words of the ritual in unison: 

“Mistress of the Moons, Yuda, to your wisdom we entrust our beloved son, Kal-El’s fate. May you seek out his Chosen to bring him happiness, companionship, and love. May they both find in each other a harmony that brings contentment and a divergence that adds inspiration. So we ask, so may it be,” they concluded and stepped back. 

At their pointed looks, Kal carefully relaxed the death grip he had on the armrests of the throne and tried to sit back as comfortably as the throne would permit. He had been instructed to keep his thoughts as tranquil as possible; to let a concept of his Chosen float through his mind but not to clutter his thoughts with a list of details. At the time that had seemed easy enough. In experience, however, he found it was somewhat akin to being instructed _not_ to think of the pink Kandorian bear-horse in the room. The more he tried to not to think of Kirvat the Bold, for instance, his favorite storybook hero, the more images of Kirvat played through his mind. 

Artistic representations of Kirvat varied, but the ones Kal had always been most powerfully drawn to had depicted Kirvat astride a mythical fire-horse, the wind blowing through his long black hair and whipping his cloak out behind him as the fire-horse soared with him through the sky. Those pictures usually included Riora, his golden-haired love, clinging tightly as he whisked her away from danger—again. Kal’s favorite images, though, his favorite parts of the stories, had always been the ones where it was just Kirvat and his comrade, Xirad. Sometimes, when he was much younger, he used to wish Riora would go away and let Kirvat and Xirad have their adventures without having to take off and rescue her—again. 

He didn’t think the Crown of Yuda would have ever matched Kirvat and Riora; he had never been convinced she was truly right for him, that she understood him. There were many stories, after all, where Riora urged Kirvat to lay down his burden, give up his Quest and be happy with her. She never seemed to understand that the Quest wasn’t a burden but a responsibility that Kirvat accepted willingly because someone had to stand against injustice. Xirad had always understood because Xirad was driven by the same desire to help, to make a difference for good. 

When he thought about it now, Kal was just about convinced that the Crown of Yuda would have singled out Xirad as the Chosen for Kirvat. Their life together would have been fraught with danger, as villainy was never truly conquered but only held in check. When a day’s battle was done, though, they would turn to each other, tend each other’s wounds, and understand what the battle had cost them and know every sacrifice was of tremendous value. 

As he realized he had been dwelling on Kirvat and Xirad quite a bit, actually, Kal bit his lip and tried to clear his mind. Kirvat was only make believe, after all, and not even the Crown of Yuda could bring him to Krypton.

~*~

Curious, Kara approached her aunt and uncle and whispered, “Is it supposed to do that?”

At first, when her cousin had sat back in the throne, the Crown of Yuda had glowed with a soft and pretty opalescence. Peaceful and soothing but a little monotonous, and not much like her cousin. Now, however, vibrant colors rich with passion, blending and blurring together like a swirl of paints splashed against a wall pulsed through the crystals. Kara would have sworn she heard a faint chiming from them as well. 

“Not really, no,” Jor-El said, slowly. His eyes were narrowed with suspicion and fixed on her cousin’s dreamy face. He shared a look with Lara, who only replied with a gentle shrug of her slim shoulders. 

_Oh, Cousin, what mischief are you making now?_

~*~

As Jim Gordon and his officers mopped up the rest of Cobblepot’s gang, Batman pursued the Penguin to the roof of the Ritz-Gotham. He dropped and rolled as flame shot toward him from the umbrella. He came up with a kick aimed at the Penguin’s arm. The kick made a satisfying crunch of impact and the umbrella was knocked from the Penguin’s grip. Squawking with pain and alarm, Cobblepot scrambled after it as the umbrella tumbled across the roof. He snagged hold of it and lashed out at Batman. The umbrella caught Batman hard against the knee and staggered him for an instant, long enough for the Penguin to leap to his feet and rush for the edge of the roof. Teetering there, he activated the umbrella’s spinning helicopter blades, ready to make his escape. A batarang smacked into him, hard enough to jolt the umbrella from his grip and send his top hat spinning off into space for good measure. As he sputtered and fought and kicked at the air, Batman reeled him on in and had just snapped a pair of cuffs on him as Jim Gordon, with two uniformed officers in tow, burst onto the roof.

“Good work,” Jim said. 

Batman nodded and handed the Penguin over to the officers. “Did you—” He trailed off and darted a startled look all around the roof, searching for the source of the… _chiming?_?...in his head. _*J’onn?*_

“Batman? Are you all right?” 

“I…” The sensation grew stronger, it tingled through every nerve. He could sense it gathering around him and knew if it had a voice, it would have cried, _Gotcha!_ as it completely enveloped him. He reached out, desperate to hold onto something but already felt the world fading out around him. Urgent, he tried to tell Jim to contact the Justice League, but he was out of time. Even as Jim started toward him, Batman vanished in a sparkly shimmer of energy 

Gordon and Cobblepot looked at each other, looked at where Batman had been, looked at each other again. 

“Awk?” 

That about summed it up, all right.

~*~

As he heard a gasp echo through the ceremonial chamber, Kal opened his eyes. As in flashes, he saw his father standing with his head slightly cocked to one side, as though he beheld something thoroughly astonishing. His mother, wide-eyed, had a hand raised to her mouth. Kara, alone of all those gathered, looked more amused than alarmed.

Kal followed all of their surprised stares across the way to the teleport chamber where his Chosen was supposed to appear. Someone was indeed there. A most…unexpected figure. Tall and lean, in some form-fitting dark gray suit, with a long black cloak was draped around broad shoulders that reached nearly to the ground. All that could be seen of the face was a strong, square jaw and a well-shaped mouth set in a firm, grim line. A black cowl concealed everything else. That cowl, with pointed ears that projected from the top, and opaque white lenses where the eyes should be, made for an uncanny image indeed. 

Since it looked like protocol had been abandoned utterly at this stage, Kal carefully stood up from the throne and removed the crown and gently placed it back on its cushion. He noted a few of the crystals appeared slightly cracked and scorched. Hoping he hadn’t broken it, he looked around the chamber again, everyone still frozen in place—everyone but that black-cloaked figure who, though he remained completely, unnervingly still, radiated a tremendous sense of power barely contained. Kal stepped forward and felt every ounce of that power trained upon him as those eerie, opaque eyes tracked his progress across the room. 

He glanced once over his shoulder at Jor-El, then squared his shoulders once more and walked up to the teleport chamber. “I am Kal-El, and I welcome you,” he said and smiled. 

The dark figure stared at him some more. “I’m Batman,” he said, and the quiet baritone voice, something slightly rough and dangerous in it, sent a thrill of excitement up Kal’s spine. “What the hell is this?” 

And although he didn’t entirely understand the nature of the inquiry, Kal gathered that his Chosen was not precisely overjoyed to be there.

~*~

The disorienting effects of the teleport were slower to fade than Bruce had grown accustomed to. As he fought off the faint sensation of dizziness, he scanned the chamber in which he had materialized. He formed an impression of unearthly crystalline architecture, polished to a glassy smoothness. People—definitely humanoid—stood around, slack-jawed in their monochromatic robes. The only splash of true color, in fact, was across the room, a young man seated on a fantastically carved piece of furniture that was far too grandiose in its almost baroque design to be a mere chair.

As Bruce watched, the young man stood and removed the ridiculous crystal crown on his head and started across the chamber. He should have made for a garish sight in his bright blue and red suit. He should have; he didn’t. Instead, as he came to stand before Bruce, tall and strong, saved from being too perfectly handsome by an unruly curl of black hair that tumbled untidily over his forehead, Bruce couldn’t find anything absurd about him at all. 

Eyes an electric shade of blue Bruce had never seen on Earth, the young man said, “I am Kal-El, and I welcome you.” Bruce wanted to ask how it was possible he understood the words. He wanted to demand a whole slew of explanations immediately. As Kal-El smiled at him, however, he found all he wanted was to bask in the warmth of that smile. He could almost feel it lighting up places in him that had been cold and dark for longer than Bruce even remembered. 

It was with an effort that he gathered himself and said, “I’m Batman. What the hell is this?” 

The answer, “It is the Ceremony of the Crown of Yuda,” made no sense whatsoever. He suspected that was going to happen quite a lot.

  
_to be continued_  



	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile back in Gotham, Jim Gordon has to make a decision...
> 
> (Sorry for the short chapter. See end note for hopeful news.)

 

Some men kept a stash of porn hidden at the back of their closet. Jim Gordon had a password-protected lock box that contained items pertaining to the biggest mystery he had ever investigated.

 

It was after midnight, January 2, nearly twenty-four hours since he had been witness to the sight as Batman was whisked away from a Gotham rooftop by some kind of transporter beam straight out of _Star Trek_. He didn’t have any better clue now as to what had happened or what to do about it. And he just hoped to Christ that it had been a transporter beam.

 

He took a swig of cold coffee, made a face and got up from the kitchen table to pour it out in the sink. As he rinsed the cup and set it to dry in the dish rack, Jim realized he was keeping watch through the window that overlooked his deck—waiting for the shadow, the soft rustle of a cape that was all the warning he ever got that Batman had arrived. Usually it wasn’t even that much. He would just turn and this form would emerge from the shadows. It had been damned unnerving the first few times and still retained a certain eerie quality even after all of this time. Funny how you could miss something like that.

 

He sighed and sat back down at the kitchen table, the documents spread out in a pool of light. It wasn’t much, really; mostly articles clipped from newspapers and magazines, along with some notepads where he had worked out his thoughts on the matter, the big question: Who Is The Batman? He’d underlined that twice, actually, and then jotted down a line of question marks that threatened to run unto infinity until Jim finally worked up the nerve to scribble out a name: Harvey Dent. He had scratched it out almost immediately, even though his thoughts had drifted back that way a time or two. Ultimately, the motive hadn’t struck him as strong enough. Whoever it was that put on that cowl and went out every night to make a difference, to make the streets even just one fraction safer, he was driven by something more than an abstract idea of justice. It was deeply personal; borne of pain and loss and a fervent need to make sure no one else ever experienced the grief that had been his own crucible.

 

Even then that other name, _the_ name, didn’t pop up until Jim had filled several more pages with his speculations, as close as he could ever get to thinking out loud. And he had still approached it sideways: _Wayne Enterprises would have the resources he needs. Access point, Lucius Fox?_

He set the notepad down and reached for one of the clippings, the oldest of the bunch. Grainy, black and white photos of a crime scene; a glimpse of a young boy with a shell-shocked look on his face; and a headline that screamed **PhilanthropistThomas Wayne and Wife Brutally Slain.** As if the brutal part needed to be driven home.

 

He had stuck another article to that one with a paperclip that he pried off now. This one was from seven years ago and reported on the deaths of aerialists John and Mary Grayson, of The Flying Graysons, during a performance in Gotham. This story, at least, included a few rays of hope as it went on to recount how Bruce Wayne had opened his home to the Grayson’s young son, Richard, a skilled acrobat in his own right.  Jim had added an annotation in the margins: _And not long after this, Batman begins to be seen accompanied by a young, athletic sidekick known as Robin. Coincidence?_

Robin… Jim had hoped the boy would turn up tonight. That would have made everything so much less complicated. Now Jim had to take a course of action that he had conscientiously avoided for years. Batman had asked him for help up on that roof, though, or tried to, and damned if Jim would let him down.

 

He had just swept everything back into the box when Barbara came into the kitchen. She finished knotting her robe, yawned, and gave him a look that was far too wise for her fifteen years. “You’re going out again?”

 

“Have to see a little birdie.” He locked the box and reached for his hat, gloves, and coat. The winter storm that blown up and dumped two feet of snow on the city had eased off a few hours ago and left a bitter, arctic chill behind. It was the kind of night you bundled up for--or stayed home, snug and warm. Not an option for him anymore, though, he knew. “You’ll be okay on your own?”

 

“Keep the doors locked, don’t let anyone in who isn’t you, Harvey Bulloch, or Batman,” Barbara rattled off by rote as she helped tuck in the ends of his scarf, “and even then make sure they know the secret word. What is the secret word today?”

 

“Wiseacre,” he said and gave her a stern look.

 

Unrepentant, she grinned and picked up the lock box. “You need this?”

 

“I do.” He took it from her and cradled it close. He didn’t actually anticipate that he would be called on to prove his case but he also wasn’t naïve enough to expect Barbara to resist the urge to get into the box. She caught onto way too much as it was. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

 

Serious now, Barbara asked, “Are you okay, Dad?”

 

“I’m good.” He nodded. “Just have to go cross the Rubicon,” he added with a wry look. As Barbara parsed her way through that remark, Jim patted his pockets to check he had his keys and phone and headed for the door. He winced and sucked in a breath at the icy air as he opened the kitchen door. “Don’t wait up for me,” he told her and recognized the _yeah, right_ look she gave him in reply. He’d seen it often enough in her mother’s eyes on nights like this.

 

“Say hello to Robin for me!” she called after him as Jim hurried for the car.

 

He glanced back in time to see the door close. _Far_ too wise for her own good.

 

With the box on the seat beside him, he put the key in the ignition and was relieved when the engine started on the first try. Blessed heat soon flowed from the vents and by the time he had backed out of the drive and pointed the car in the direction of Moutain Drive, he was downright toasty.

 

Wherever Batman was right now, Jim could only hope his friend was comfortable, too. All the same, he pressed down on the acceleration, eager to get on with his task now that he had made up his mind, because if he knew anything at all for a certainty about Batman, it was that whatever the creature comforts around him, the Dark Knight would always prefer to be on the streets of Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three will be posted ASAP (cross my heart) and will rejoin the story on Krypton.


End file.
